


unveiled

by charming_syrai



Series: Some Origins Of Fire Series [2]
Category: X-Men (post X3), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charming_syrai/pseuds/charming_syrai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post X3 | <i>If only, for once in her life, she could take part in a conversation regarding him and tell them, everyone, that really, if her parents had got hitched like she wishes they had, her surname would actually be Allerdyce, not D'Ancanto.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sorry go 'round

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **PROMPT:** 026 trauma
> 
>  

Her last name is D'Ancanto and she damn well knows that. She's grown up with it so of course she does and she's even proud of that, of her name and her heritage, but sometimes, when no one's watching and she knows Mom isn't going to be home anytime soon… that's when she unleashes her imagination and plays mind games with another possibility. The kind that creates a mischievous smirk on her lips and at the same time, makes her skin crawl for no apparent reason. It's not like she'd change her name if given the opportunity, but come on, who doesn't like to dream and pretend every once in a while?

 

In that department Shelby D'Ancanto is just like every other 12 year old kid in the world. It's the part where she's a mutant with the gift of creating fire that sets her apart from the most crowd. Although, inside the walls of her school, she's one of the many and the ability to mess around with fire, it only makes her super cool.

 

Seriously, on a scale from 4-10, she totally scores 11. Sometimes she wonders how much cooler she'd be if they simply knew the whole truth. Perhaps she'd get 15 then, possibly even 16 - or at least she calculates so… and that simple calculation she bases solely, and sourly, on the memory of that _stupid_ Amara Aquilla girl scoring 17 damn points last year just because she can generate and control lava. Who cares about stupid lava? No one.

 

But her secret?

 

For one, it totally explains why all her best friends went to _Charles Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters_ whereas she, despite the many arguments she had with her mother about it, did not.

 

Instead, she ended up into another academy much like Xavier's school. Only difference that she can think of is the fact hers goes by the name of _House of M_ \- so far it's actually been good. Being around other mutants; it feels like a consolation price of a sort, but one that she'll gladly accept when offered.

 

At school, they've all heard about him, heard the whispers of what he was and of what he became, and it kills her -every single day- that she can't even brag.

 

If only, for once in her life, she could take part in a conversation regarding him and tell them, everyone, that really, if her parents had got hitched like she wishes they had, her surname would actually be _Allerdyce,_ not D'Ancanto.

 

Well, the good thing is, no one would probably even believe her... The downside is that she'd have the power to change their minds. With her ability she could _totally_ prove it.

 

It's rather logical, at least to her it is, that the daughter of the infamous Pyro would possess the same natural talent of her father's and so they'd have to believe. Especially since her mother has no powers, at all, which makes her _ordinary._ Not that she minds, because no matter what, she loves her mother - more than anything in the whole wide world. More than the _thought_ of him and that says a lot.

 

Though, the rumors which she's heard about ten hundred times and more, they say that _he_ actually can't create fire, only manipulate it and she's not sure what to think of that.

 

On the other hand, that sucks a little because rumors like that kind of takes away from his magic. But then… on the other? It sort of makes her even cooler, doesn't it? Because she sure as hell _can_ create it.

 

But if Dad knew about her and her power, he'd be damn proud and that's all the comfort she needs to get by.

 

She's heard about the Brotherhood, they've talked about its history and timeline vaguely at school a few times, but Shelby refuses to believe all the things they say about it. Besides, even if all the things the adults have said when they've been under the impression there are no kids around, even if all _that_ was true, then so what? It was before - before he joined them.

 

And Mom always says that the past doesn't mean anything, but that it's the future that counts.

 

She doesn't always listen to her mother, especially when the conversation has something to do with bedtimes, vegetables or why shoplifting is bad and how it'll get her grounded every single time, but occasionally the woman does know what she's talking about and Shelby has no issues when it comes to admitting that.

 

"Honey?" Speak of the devil - it's the hollering voice of one Marie D'Ancanto coming from downstairs that shatters the moment radically. The piece of paper in Shelby's hands gets quickly thrown into the steely trashcan and only a second later, it flares up and then, burns to dust. The last thing she wants her mother to see is a postage filled with different variations of all the possible ways to write down _Shelby D'Ancanto, Shelby Allerdyce_ and, of course, _Shelby D'Ancanto-Allerdyce._

 

Because honestly, Shelby would rather shoplift and get caught red-handed, _again,_ than let Marie know her daughter dug up the one and only secret she's been trying to protect since before the day she gave birth.

 

"Honey? You home?" The second time she hears her voice, this time colored with slight worry and uncertainty, the girl finally makes a move. "I'm coming!" She yells back, pushes her chair away from the desk while getting up and rushes off the room. She even gets half-way down the stairs before running into Marie.

 

A pair of arms close around her immediately, pulling her close and Shelby doesn't even consider protesting like many girls of her age would. Instead, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, enjoying.

 

She's never figured out why, not that she'd even given it much thought, but just the smell of her mother has always been enough to calm her nerves down - no matter what the cause.

 

"Well, it's definitely the funkiest way to welcome one home," Marie speaks then, pushing the girl a little farther. With adoring look, she cups Shelby's face with both hands and gives her a pointed smile, adding, "but honey, think we could move off the stairs before I fall down and break my neck?"

 

"It figures," Shelby snorts dramatically, but with laughing eyes and a hint of smile tugging at her lips, "it's always your neck that matters."

 

The statement draws out a deep, rolling laughter from the older D'Ancanto and a malicious smirk from the younger. With a wide grin -and completely ignoring the damned images that familiar smirk on the child's lips arise-, Marie lands a kiss on the top of her daughter's head before shrugging nonchalantly and says, "I would argue, but we both know it indeed is the prettiest neck in the house."

 

"Only," Shelby starts, tilting her head, "because mine hasn't fully developed yet. Give it some time, Mom, 'cause I'll catch up with you for sure."

 

Marie smiles, but it's easy for Shelby to notice how there's something sad, protected about her smile when she replies softly, "Yeah, never doubted that one for a sec, dear."

 

They're not talking about her neck anymore, are they? It's the tone of her mother's voice and that smile -sad and longing-, both telling Shelby to damn all the possible consequences and just _do it_ without thinking. It's obvious Marie is thinking about _him,_ because he's the only one who can bring that hollowness into her eyes, and this would be such a perfect window to ask about him. Smoothly.

 

But before Shelby can come up with the most perfect way to be _smooth_ about it, like she knows she has to be if she wants to succeed, the moment's gone and Marie's already turned around.

 

"I'm gonna order pizza," she says, sounding tired, and Shelby can tell it's simply her way of changing the course of the previous moment, "and I suspect you have no-"

 

"Nuh huh," Shelby assures right away, shaking her head, "no complaints from here."

 

"Good," Marie throws over her shoulder while descending the stairs, "'cause I cannot be bothered to cook today."

 

"Good," Shelby retorts somewhat automatically, the way she always does and follows her mother into the kitchen, "'cause I cannot be bothered to lie about its quality today."

 

It's not that her mother can't cook well… It's that she can't cook at all. That, however, has never bothered neither Marie or Shelby, but it is something she loves to throw at her mother's face just for meaningless fun.

 

"You're such a smart-ass, kiddo," Marie laughs, grabbing the phone from the wall and hitting speed-dial. It's always amused Shelby to no end - the fact they actually have all their favorite take-away places on speed-dial as if that was all they ate. It isn't, really, but it makes life in general a whole lot easier, according to Mom anyway and who is she to argue about the facts of life?

 

"Just like my father?" The question slips out so mischievously, and totally without Shelby's consent, and she's almost tempted to clap her hands on her mouth to keep it from saying anything else.

 

But Marie, unlike Shelby thought, doesn't seem bothered by it. The sad smile reappears hand in hand with amused glint, but that's about it and then, to Shelby's surprise, she nods and says, "Just like your father."

 

Shelby, she can't remember the last time they would've talked about her father. At all. No, wait, there's this one memory she's been holding onto for as long as she can tell, with them both here, in the kitchen, talking about him -fighting about him- but she can't remember any of the words exchanged. But she remembers, quite clearly, how upset Mom was afterwards and maybe that's why she promised herself she'd never ask about Dad again. Not from her, anyway.

 

She's tried asking Bobby - many, many times actually, but so far the man has proven to be of no use. Whenever Shelby even so much as _thinks_ of asking, this sudden tension takes a hold of his features and silences her unspoken questions before they even get a chance to come out. She's not sure how he does it, but it freaks her out and-

 

Is that the doorbell?

 

Without wasting a look on her mother who's still on the phone, Shelby practically runs to the door. Well, there's only one person who would come to their door this late - and she's counting on that.

 

When the doorbell rings three times in a row before she gets to the door, she already knows she was right. The impatient ringing always gives it away.

 

Mom always says she should peek out from the window to see who it is, just in case because you never know what's out there, but if Mom isn't there standing behind her back, _watching,_ Shelby never bothers to go through with the ritual. Instead, she usually pulls the door open and like now, with a delighted shriek, leaps against the guest in excitement.

 

Logan only smirks, lifting her better up into his arms and steps over the threshold like the owner of the house. She's not as light as she used to be, he can tell, but it's no issue and he figures, it never will.

 

"What ya up to, kiddo?" He asks and closes the door with the heel of his boot. Logan, he always calls her kiddo, much like Mom does and Shelby's convinced that's from where she picked it up.

 

"Besides bothering Mom?" She questions, pensive, "Nothing much."

 

The reply earns a chuckle from him - and a slight shake of head. He carries her to the kitchen and she wonders why he never ever has to ask where Mom is. How can he always know her exact spot no matter where she is? It's just as unnerving as the fact he seems to be able to smell her lies a mile away. Though, really, usually that's no problem and therefore she doesn't mind; Logan isn't the type to rat her out unless she's done something really, really bad.

 

Which she has, occasionally.

 

"Should've known you've been bad, firestarter," he returns, almost as if he had read her mind and she could go on with it, make funny comments all night, but she doesn't want to. She's too curious to know-

 

"Where you been, Logan?" She asks, "Mom kept asking around for like two weeks and you know how she gets when she's worried. It was hell on earth."

 

"Sorry," Logan says, but she knows he doesn't mean it.

 

Then, without him saying anything, giving no explanations, she is gently dropped on her own two feet. Marie's done with the phone call and is now cleaning the dinner table with a rag, but the moment she sees Logan, her face lights up and the cloth falls from her fingers. Shelby can't help but smile.

 

"Logan!" Then it's Marie's turn to hug him and Shelby simply watches the moment, happy. It's nice, the freeing effect he always seems to have on Marie and she hates to admit that the only way it could be better is if it was _him_ instead. That particular train of thought makes her feel guilty every single time, though and so she usually tries to steer clear from it.

 

"Where the hell have you been?" Not knowing, Marie repeats the exact same question as her daughter, although with a bit harsher language. It brings a smirk to Shelby's face.

 

"Around," he says, shrugging, "here and there."

 

Yeah, sure, as if Mom would actually let that reply slide...

 

As expected, Marie takes a step back and crosses her arms. Oh, boy - Shelby knows what _that_ look combined with _that_ posture mean. Despite the fact Mom is damn happy to see her old friend, Logan is still in for a massive amount of trouble. Well, this time Shelby agrees with Mom, because yeah, he most definitely deserves it after vanishing without a word. You don't do that to your family and that's exactly what she considers him to be.

 

"Well, doesn't 'here and there' have any phones?" Marie prompts, eyes narrowing the way they always do when she's riled up, "You know I've been worried sick about you and the least you could've done is like, I dunno, call and let me know you're still in one piece." The comment makes Logan snort in obvious amusement and roll his eyes - and that in turn makes Shelby frown. What was so funny about that, huh?

 

"Kiddo, don't lecture an old man," Logan sighs then, but like Shelby, he too knows well enough to keep all signs of annoyance inside, "I've been around long enough to know I can take care of myself."

 

Marie shrugs, but now there's a weak smile hanging on her lips, "Still," she says, clearly giving up on anger, "We missed you."

 

"Well," Logan grunts back like a caveman would, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

 

Indeed, but, "For how long?" Shelby cuts in, growing suddenly worried. Sure, she loves to hear him tell lively stories about the journeys he's made, about the things he's seen, but it doesn't change the fact she never wants him to go.

 

"Don't plan on leaving any time soon," Logan replies, but something in the way he says it, in the tone used, tells Shelby it's nothing but a big fat lie. Whatever it is that's going on, it's something big.

 

And then? Her skin crawls unexpectedly, cold shivers traveling from her head to toes. That's when she notes the way his face suddenly changes and they watch him sniff the air like he often does and hear him say, "Something's up."

 

A moment goes by in utter silence but soon enough it's broken by the recurring sound of the doorbell.

 

Logan sniffs again, only stronger this time and then glances at Marie. "Are you expecting someone?"

 

"No," Shelby replies before Marie can say anything - is it just her imagination or did her mother just go completely pale? Well, anyway, "I mean, besides the pizza delivery guy, but there's no way he could've been this fast, because you know, he's always late and that's why we always get a discount and once he-"

 

"I got the point, kid," Logan interrupts her speeding rambling, "Simple no would've worked."

 

Right. Of course... But Shelby rarely goes for simple and he should've learnt that by now.

 

The doorbell rings again and when Marie still doesn't move, or even seem like she'll attempt to any time soon, Logan takes the lead. Which, really, doesn't surprise Shelby at all, because that's the way he is. Logan always takes the lead, even when Marie doesn't want him to and on most times, it leads into a verbal fight very similar to a small world war.

 

But it's not like Logan would take a hint and learn of his mistakes when it comes to macho male-stuff like that. At least that's what Mom once said.

 

"Stay here with her, kiddo," Logan orders and though she usually would, this time Shelby doesn't argue. For one, she isn't quite sure if the command was directed to her or Marie and either way, someone's gotta stay and take care of Mom... because seriously, she's gone about as ashen as her skunk stripes and that's never promising. On most cases it involves vomit.

 

What in the world is going on with her, huh?

 

Logan's already at the door and if she tries really, really hard, Shelby can almost hear the soft tones of a female voice. She can't make out the words, at all, but it's definitely a woman at their doorstep.

 

"Marie?"

 

It's Logan, obviously, and this time his voice seems to snap the woman out of it - whatever it was. She blinks a few times and inhales sharply - almost as if she'd been without air since the first rang of the doorbell and who knows, perhaps she was. Wouldn't be a first.

 

Shelby doesn't speak, only watches how Marie swallows and wets her lips before clearing her throat. She's seen this act so many times before that she knows all the little gestures by heart. Mom, she's simply collecting herself, taking back the control of the lost moment.

 

And when she's done, she looks as normal as she always does and-

 

_"Marie?"_ Logan calls out, impatient, and when she replies, there are no traces of the previous collapse in her voice, "In a minute!" she shouts her reply and then turns to Shelby, who's now sucking her bottom lip rather pensively.

 

"Stay here," Marie says firmly, echoing Logan's earlier command and Shelby shrugs, not bothering to come up with a retort. But come on... where the hell do they think she'd go, honestly?

 

And so she's left alone. Left into the kitchen, alone... left wondering what's going on and whether it was Dad that Mom pictured standing behind the door a moment ago.

 

It would've been kind of cool, huh? - Though that doesn't make any sense to her, at all. Because if she had; if Mom did think it was Dad making an appearance after all these years, then why did she look like she was about to be sent to Hell's Gates?

 

Must find out. And Shelby, she knows exactly how to attempt that.

 

Sure, she was ordered to stay put... but surely they didn't mean she can't walk around in her own home. What if she needs to go to the bathroom?

 

Still, careful not to make any avoidable sound, she forgets all about the command and sneaks through the kitchen door, towards the lobby and stops at the other end of the empty living-room, close enough to hear what is said in the space located on the other side of the wall.

 

The conversation seems to be heated, despite the fact it's spoken with low volume.

 

The first thing she clearly hears is Marie's voice, saying, "No, thank you, but I'm not interested." She sounds... cold. That's odd.

 

The stranger lets out a cynical laugh sounding just as cold; the kind meant to act only as an ice dagger thrown at Marie, meant to hurt. Yeah, the kind of laughter that would've only a few months ago undoubtedly made Shelby torch the sofa. Whoops. Lucky for, well, everyone in their neighborhood, for everyone in their lives, a few anger management lessons took care of _that_ little problem pretty quickly.

 

"Oh, you aren't?" The baiting voice asks then and as a reflex Shelby, she sends out a short prayer, wishing Logan would do what he always does and smack the owner of that _damn_ voice for being so damn annoying and _mean._ Preferably hard and a few times in a row.

 

Shelby actually expects Marie to speak up -no one talks like that to a D'Ancanto and gets away with it-, but surprisingly, it's the stranger who rambles on, "Why, I thought finding a different school would be your top priority," she continues almost immediately and Shelby can just _tell_ it's not gonna be good, "considering you've without knowing put your daughter into a school run by the Brotherhood, I figured you might be. I always thought you X-Men were, well, how would I put? _Above_ that?"

 

Shelby's mind draws a full-fledged blank. Huh? Her mother has put a what where?

 

Because for a moment there, as stupid as it is, it sounded like the woman had implied that _Marie_ , her mother, had not only put her, _Shelby,_ into a school run by the group she considers to be evil but that... she, her mother, would be part of X-Men.

 

Which in itself is totally ridiculous and so not possible, because in order for one to _be_ an X-Man, you'd have to _be_ a mutant and well, everyone knows that is something Marie D'Ancanto is not.

 

That chick, she's some looney who's lost her marbles.

 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marie denies then, after a small pause, but something in her tone creates a wrinkle on Shelby's forehead. What, she's lying? She _does_ know, doesn't she?

 

The confusion comes in nearly suffocating waves and Shelby has no clue what statement to pick apart first. They all seem equally impossible, anyway.

 

"Look, _Rogue,_ let me be honest with you," the woman speaks bluntly and Shelby can only barely swallow the pained sound, a yelp, trying to climb up her throat, "First of all, have you never ever wondered what the letter M stands for?"

 

That's when Logan's limits are finally met and Shelby can imagine, even without seeing it happen, how his face looks when he growls and grabs her arms to push her towards the still open door.

 

"That's enough, Frost," he drawls, angry and ready for a fight, "get out."

 

But unlike one would think, she's not that easy to get rid of, not at all.

 

He manages to get the petite blond out the door into the veranda, but that's when she decides to quit the games and put up a fight. Only, it's not a fight at all, because she seems to have no issues holding her ground against Logan. Like it was nothing, she grabs his arms and somehow -though Shelby can't understand it, because Logan is the strongest guy she's ever known- somehow the woman manages to stay rooted on the spot.

 

"No, seriously," she tells mockingly and clearly amused as her skin gains a weird kind of glow. It seems she's not a bit bothered by the fact Logan's still at her face, growling and trying to push her further from her shocked mother, "Think about that for a second, will you?"

 

Marie, then again, is standing there in the lobby like a stone statue and simply stares at the figure in her front yard trying to decide her next step - but it's decided for her, because at that point Shelby can no longer hold it in.

 

"Mom?" She shrieks, voice weak and trembling, _"Mom?"_ She steps around the corner at the same time as Marie spins around on her heels.

 

Her mouth opens and closes and then opens again as if she was struggling with the words, like they refused to come out and-

 

"Yes, _Rogue,_ honestly," Frost snickers, shoving Logan forcefully off her, "you might wanna tell her who and what her real parents are!"

 

Then, the one thing Shelby has never expected to see, happens. Frost, she shoves Logan one more time and this time he actually _falls._

 

That's when it occurs to both Marie and Logan that _something_ really has to be done, right now, or else-

 

"Marie," Logan growls, knuckles opening and claws appearing, "go!"

 

Shelby can only stare.

 

But this time her mother doesn't stay clueless - she comes to life and reacts. Perhaps the motherly instincts kick in, the will to survive and protect, Shelby doesn't know what it is, but a moment later she's being grabbed by the wrist and being dragged forward.

 

And all the young girl can see in front of her eyes; all she can think about, while being led towards the backdoor in the kitchen, is the image of Logan and the _claws_ she just saw appear.

 

It's not that she's never seen anything like that happen before - she can create fire out of thin air, okay, so claws appearing out of nowhere is not that unusual.

 

But claws appearing out of _Logan's_ knuckles, well, that most certainly is unusual.

 

Very much like her mother being called _Rogue._

 

Because everyone knows who Rogue is and that's not her mother. It isn't.

 

The fingers wrapped around her wrist are gripping so tight it hurts, but it's nothing compared to the painful feeling of something squeezing her heart. The running, she realizes coming to, they're still running.

 

When did they get out through the backdoor, she has no idea, but there they are, in the middle of the streets, _running._

 

"Come on, baby," Marie pleads in between breaths when Shelby's pace suddenly slows down, "you've got to run."

 

She has no idea why they have to run so hard, but the desperation in Marie's voice leaves no room for questioning. And so she tells her body to stop whining and runs, as fast as she possibly can and-

 

Marie is the first and only one to smack against something hard, but the collision flies her backwards and she pulls Shelby with her, on the ground.

 

She whimpers and Shelby doesn't know why and there's no time to ask, because Marie is already forcing them both up, telling her to stop crying and start running again, because _baby, everything's gonna be okay-_

 

"No, it isn't," a voice says and there's no doubts about to whom it belongs. _Frost._

 

Shelby's fingers close around the hem of Marie's shirt while her head presses against Marie's back. She's shaking, shaking so damn hard that Marie can almost hear the rapid beating of her heart and smell the fear.

 

Everything, it's too much and Shelby can't watch, can't deal.

 

Which, Marie figures after fully registering the sight in front of her, is probably for the best considering her mental health. It's more or less at stake already, anyway.

 

The smirking mutant -oh yes, Marie's come to the conclusion _it_ indeed is a mutant and a crazy one too- in which she slammed against, is bleeding all over her white outfit, deep red claw marks decorating her face and one can only wonder how she's still standing. Or where Logan is... no, can't go there, can't think about that, gotta focus on the moment-

 

And yet, despite the pain Marie is convinced the woman feels, there's a glorious smirk twisting the mutant's mouth as if there was no blood at all.

 

"What the fuck do you want?" Marie spits, furious, because if this is another stunt pulled by John than she's gonna murder that bitch and her boss and-

 

"Oh hush with that kind of language, darling," Frost barks and the thing that amazes Marie is the fact she sounds as if she was scolding a bad behaved kid, "And stop screaming like that, alright?"

 

Screaming like what?

 

"Blaming Pyro really isn't gonna get you out of this situation, now is it?"

 

A telepath, Marie realizes and just like that, all the hope she might have had buried somewhere deep within, vanishes to thin air. She's facing a damn telepath - great.

 

Where are _his_ fucking gorillas when you need them?

 

"Oh," the _bitch_ replies, the probably forever-malicious smirk still plastered on her face, "they're napping, sort of."

 

Of course. Trust John _fucking_ Allerdyce to find the kind of idiots who can't even beat one damn telepath bitch.

 

It's amazing, really. How the Brotherhood has managed to survive this long, it's a damn miracle.

 

"I agree, it is. I wouldn't like him much right now, either," Frost responds, grimacing and the indifferent way she tosses a lock of blond hair over her shoulder makes Marie want to bounce her, "In fact, I don't like him, period."

 

Yes, well, join the fucking club.

 

"He's a fuck up, a failure and honestly, how you ever ended up in bed with that shithead is beyond my understanding... " her voice lingers there, but not for long, because naturally she's not done with the subtle insults yet, "but hey," she continues perkily, "each to her own, right?"

 

Okay, interestingly put. Could it be this whack-job in the sluttiest outfit Marie has ever laid eyes on, is actually one of _Pyro's_ abandoned sluts in a war path towards revenge?

 

"Don't call me a slut!" Frost snaps angrily and Marie snorts (because seriously, _who_ in their right mind wears a dress that revealing?) and tells her, "If you don't want people to think that, then maybe you should every once in a while glance a mirror on your way out."

 

"Hey," the mutant throws back, "you're the one he walked out on. Don't blame it on me."

 

Um, _what?_ She hasn't-

 

"It sounded like you did," Frost supplies tonelessly.

 

"You," Marie stresses in obvious disbelief, "are fucking insane."

 

Whatever happened to the type of enemies that instead of chatting, prefer killing in silence? And well, is it weird Marie herself _prefers_ those, because my gods, this skank is driving _her_ insane. Been there, done that, no need for a repeat.

 

"Insane? Yes, that's what they keep telling me," Frost sighs like the drama queen she is, "It doesn't change the fact you're about to suffer, though..." And then, of all things, she chuckles happily to whatever thought it was that happened to cross her mind, "Or to think of it, maybe it _is_ the reason you're going to suffer, I don't know, but if you'd only agreed to send the kid to one damn school, we wouldn't be here."

 

Well, it wasn't like she appeared on her doorstep and told her what to do - _or else._ No, not once during that short conversation of theirs, did she mention what would happen if Marie didn't agree to pull Shelby out of her current school and send to another, and honestly, what kind of idiot is she anyway?

 

"So you actually believed that I would, knowingly, ship my daughter off to some school founded by a gang of terrorists?" Marie snorts and this time it's her turn to make a mocking face, "Oh, yeah, how silly of me. Of course I'd do that."

 

The telepath snarls and it becomes clear to Marie that Frost, she loves icy comments, but only when they're coming from her.

 

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," she says with a straight face and for a moment there Marie, as much as she hates it, is almost scared. Because you don't annoy a crazy person and survive - every one knows that… but when the said crazy person is attacking you and therefore a real threat to your only child, it's kind of hard not to bite back.

 

"How surprising," Marie retorts through gritted teeth, "because I sincerely thought I could talk myself out of this, but oh well-"

 

"Shut the fuck up!" Frost snaps and takes an irate step closer, eyes flashing dangerously and Marie can barely keep herself from backing up, which is exactly what every fiber of her being demands her to do. To run and get away, to get Shelby to safety... But to be realistic, what are the odds of _that_ working out as planned? Even if she did try anything as risky as running, she'd most likely only end up knocking Shelby on the ground and well, Marie is somewhat sure the girl's suffered trauma huge enough for one day - no need to add the raw murder of her mother's into the list of traumas.

 

 

"You know what?" the blond mutant asks, grinning viciously and really, Marie _does_ know, "I thought I could be nice. I thought I could simply take the kid and leave you to your pain 'cause it would've been painful, I know that for sure. But at least you would've been alive…" she pauses, but only for an effect, "now, however, I'm thinking I'd much rather kill you and-"

 

That's as far as she gets - all the sudden there's a bright light and it momentarily forces Marie to shield her eyes with her hand, blinding her sight at once. But her closed eyes, they don't make much of a difference; she hears the pained cry coming from Frost anyway and she can smell the familiar scent of _fire._

 

Oh my god - _Shelby!_

 

Indeed, only then she realizes that Shelby isn't behind her anymore; her hands have left Marie's shirt and the strong chin is no longer digging into her backbone like it was a moment ago.

 

Her eyes snap open instantly, ignoring the light and the pain it might cause-

 

But it doesn't matter, doesn't hurt because the light is gone and all that it has left behind, is an image that will forever stay, be forever burned into Marie's consciousness.

 

Frost is on her knees and Shelby.... she's moved in front of her, both hands on her face and she's taking such strong, heaving breaths that you would think there's no air anywhere near.

 

But her mother knows better - it's not the lack of air that's making her gasp.

 

Because my gods, the horrified _-drained-_ look on Frost's face; Marie recognizes it immediately and how could she not? She's seen it too many damn times in the past, but never like this, never as an outsider. Her shaking hands travel up to cover her mouth in shock.

 

It only takes a few seconds before the woman falls on the ground with a loud thud - unconscious or dead, Marie doesn't know nor care at that point, and a moment later the little girl follows.

 

But unlike the psychotic telepath, she's got someone there to grab her before she hits the dirt.


	2. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She gathers all her strength into a one neat push and manages to make him budge. The arm loosens, a little, and she can once again draw air into her lungs and ask, defying, "You'd rather she die as a mutant than live as a human?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PROMPT:** 035 lithium

The coldness has eaten its way into her bones, to her spine; dug a hole in there somewhere, and Marie doesn't think it'll ever go away again. No, of course it won't, and she's gonna feel cold and empty 'til the day she dies because that's how the real world works. There truly are no happy endings.

 

The bedroom in which she sits, at the end of a massive four-poster bed hands in her lap, is expensively furnished and huge, but those are the last things on her mind right now. At least they should be. Still, weirdly enough, she remembers vaguely that when she first entered said room earlier that night, her mind had momentarily stopped to make a mental note that had absolutely nothing to do with the current situation. If it had been day, she thought then, the whole space would've bathed in warm, bright light and it would've looked _beautiful._

 

But it's not day and so the only light illuminating the otherwise dark room is the moon's, filtering through the blinds and creating stripes all over.

 

She feels like crying, but hasn't been able to shed a tear and she wonders whether that's a good sign or bad. Maybe, she figures, she's still in shock.

 

Not that she'd be the only one. Marie doesn't know where John went after placing their daughter into a bathtub filled with cold water and ice cubes - and well, asking hadn't occurred to her when he'd exited the bathroom and left them into the questionable safety of his penthouse.

 

Marie had sat there next to her daughter, on the bathroom's tile floor for as long as she could, but after an hour or so she'd been ruthlessly forced to get out. Forced to escape the heat and the flames. That, having to flee the room for _that_ , it'd actually hurt more than she could've imagined. Never before had the girl used her powers that aggressively, never unconscious… and never, ever, on her mother. Now she'd done all three simultaneously.

 

That, she realizes, was about ten minutes ago so actually, maybe she really should go back and check on her. Just in case.

 

Slowly, as if in slow-motion, Marie wills herself to move, to get up. Take a step, walk, go to the door.

 

Every step seems to drain her energy more and more and she doesn't really understand why her body is putting up such a fight. Why the hell is she so hesitant to go see her own kid when really, she's the only thing Marie can't imagine living without? And Shelby, despite everything, she _needs_ her mother, now more than ever, and what kind of a person does it make her, if she bails on her child because she's _afraid._

 

What is she afraid of anyway? Of what'll happen or afraid of… her?

 

Because the latter? That'd suck.

 

When she finally reaches the bathroom's door, she presses her ear carefully against its wooden surface. There are no sounds to be heard, no whimpers, no nothing and so she concludes it's safe enough for her to enter now.

 

But instead of walking in like she planned to, Marie only pushes the door open, revealing the sight that breaks her heart every time she sees it.

 

Shelby, she's in the bathtub with a pained grimace shadowing her face, clothes on and trembling.

 

Though, really, Marie isn't stupid enough to think she'd be trembling out of sheer coldness like _she_ is, because the water is practically boiling now and all she wants to do is go there, pull the plug and _rescue_ her. But then, that wouldn't rescue her at all, now would it? As far as Marie knows and according to the doctors, it might make everything worse instead and she can't risk that. Can't risk her life.

 

She doesn't notice the slight shift of air around her, not before it's too late - a pair of very familiar arms sneak up and around her, capturing her, pulling close and she simply lets him. John, he feels unbearably warm against her back, almost as if his insides were on fire, burning, but she only wants more. It's so fucking cold, okay? She just wants to be warm again.

 

Unexpectedly his head comes down to meet the nape of her neck and she can feel his breath against her cold skin… her eyes close, but the weird thing is that unlike a moment ago when she was all alone, she can breathe freely again. His hands travel from her stomach to her middle, slowly, and as they do, the grip only tightens. She frowns, eyes still closed, when she hears him draw in a breath… hears him sniff. What the… Well, she definitely didn't see _that_ one coming.

 

Marie has no idea what's happening or why, really, but it's not the right time for the questions yet. Mainly, because she has no idea what the damned questions are or should be and even if she did, she's too tired to ask them anyway because-

 

Her brain is shutting down.

 

He seems to notice this, the way her body gives in and relaxes against his, and that's when he opens his mouth to murmur, "don't worry, I'll take _care_ of it." But the comment isn't comforting like one would think - and it isn't even meant to be. It, like the tone used and the man using it, is cruel and cynical, full of poison and bitterness and its only purpose in life is to throw Marie off. She knows this; she can hear it.

 

And it does upset her, by reminding her of the twisted lie she told him and of things she left untold; of what's behind and between them and has always been. With that realization, her eyes snap open and she tries to elbow him off, angry. To her surprise, John doesn't fight; no, instead, he opens his arms lifting them in mock-surrender and takes a step backwards, giving her enough room to spin around.

 

Spin she does. So fast, in fact, that she almost loses her ground and stumbles a little, but she barely notices it.

 

"Don't," she says as if to warn, voice edgy and yet desperate somehow, "don't blame me for this!"

 

She knows he'll tilt his head in about a second, give her a pointed look of mock and anger, and then step all over her with a simple smirk. That's what he always does.

 

John, as she assumed, tilts his head while stuffing his hands into his pockets and the look on his face, hell, it cuts right through her soul. He's furious and he's furious at _her_ and shit, he has no right to be, because-

 

"I didn't do this!" She spits with something heavy pressing her throat, "It isn't my fault!"

 

John's - no, _Pyro's_ jaw tenses dangerously - Pyro's, because right now, she knows it's Pyro standing in front of her, trying to keep his emotions in check, and there's absolutely no traces of John left on his features.

 

And well, that means she's in even deeper shit.

 

"She could die," he says then, clearly accusing her; eyes burning with the kind of hate and resentment that Marie actually shivers through and through.

 

"She won't," she claims in haste as if letting him say that would somehow make it true, "she won't die, 'cause you're the fucking leader of the damn Brotherhood and you've got about thousands of doctors and scientists smart enough to figure out what's wrong with her. You just had ten of them taking tests!"

 

Her claim, accusation, whatever it is, it makes him chuckle coldly before he tells her the truth he has never bothered to clarify, "I'm not the _fucking_ leader of the _damn_ Brotherhood and even if I was, it wouldn't matter. She could die, Rogue, get that?"

 

It takes a while before her mind can grasp his words fully. All of them. Her heart skips a beat, nearly stops and so does her breathing.

 

"No," she pipes, shaking her head. Of course _he_ 's the leader of the Brotherhood and of course Shelby won't die. With her inherited genes, how could she? She's too stubborn, too lively, too strong, way too strong to die, way too strong, way too strong, way too-

 

"The doc says her body can't take it much longer," John informs the panicking woman, cutting through her primitive train of thought, bringing her back, "The kid's own powers, they're draining her."

 

Well, if that's the case, "Then take them away!" Marie tells, raising her voice with desperation. She takes a step forward without realizing and fails to notice the way his eyes darken at that.

 

"What?" John questions, uncertain, as if he was hoping he didn't hear her right… she can't honestly think he'd ever agree to that kind of shit, right? Not when it's his kid in question - no fucking way, unless it's over his dead and buried body. And hell, not even then.

 

She swallows hesitantly, avoiding his eyes and confirms his suspicion, whispering, "The cure." She doesn't dare to look, doesn't want to see the way his face reflects his anger - she knows damn well, even without looking, what kind of reaction she'll receive.

 

Shaking his head and with narrowing eyes, he growls, "No. Fucking. Way." Yeah, _that_ kind of reaction. At least he didn't slam her against the wall like she thought he would. Well, the night's young and she's got more to say.

 

Like, "Even if she does live through this, do you actually think she'll want to spend the rest of her life like…" she stumbles, not knowing how exactly to word it, "like that? With _that?"_

 

He is anything but content with her and the topic of their discussion as he hisses, teeth gritted, "It's not your decision to make."

 

She blinks, trying to process, trying to take it all in. Not her decision? How the hell can he say that? He's got it all wrong, so fucking wrong that now it's her anger flaring up, bright and hot.

 

"When it comes to saving her life," she practically shouts, "it damn well is!"

 

That's when her back finally connects with the wall next to the bathroom's door - _painfully,_ and she realizes that his face is only inches from hers. She lets out a whimper to channel the pain out, but opposed to being helpful, the small sound coming from her throat only causes his arm to press harder against her throat and the pain does nothing but increases. His eyes are storming, so full of raw emotion that she actually stops breathing… besides, the arm on her throat really isn't helping in that department, anyway.

 

"Try anything like that," he snarls, eyes locked with hers to make sure she hears and understands _every_ single damn word he's about to lay out, " _anything_ at all, and I will not hesitate to take you down, Rogue."

 

_A threat, not a promise_ \- she knows he isn't lying. He'd have her killed, or probably go as far as killing her himself just to get his way. What a fucking asshole.

 

She gathers all her strength into a one neat push and manages to make him budge. The arm loosens, a little, and she can once again draw air into her lungs and ask, defying, "You'd rather she die as a mutant than live as a human?"

 

Something in his eyes flash, saying _yes_ while the words coming out his mouth deny it, "I'm not saying that," he sighs, irritated and she notes how he glances to his side, once, before returning his gaze into her eyes, "I'm just saying it's not your fucking decision, _Roguey."_

 

She's about to argue, tell him to go fuck himself or something, but a sudden noise draws her attention. And his, too.

 

The hands retreat and she's free again.

 

Then she hears the same noise again, stronger, and _oh my God-_

 

John is the first one there, first one to kneel down next to the bathtub and grab Shelby's shoulders. He pulls her up from beneath the waving surface and with one hand presses the coughing girl against his chest while the other supports her head. She's still half way in the now hot water, hands squeezing his arms with all her might and, well, panicking.

 

When Marie finally comes to from the shock of hearing _her_ cough, she makes a run for the bathroom - she nearly falls due the wet tiles, but it doesn't stop her rush and she kneels down behind John, grabbing his arm in attempt to balance herself while reaching to touch her cheek. But just as her fingers graze the hotly radiating skin, she remembers the other thing, and jerks her hand away.

 

And she wonders, bleeding inside, if she'll ever again be able to touch her own child without pain and suffering.

 

She's still coughing, trying to get the water out of her lungs and John? Well, _John_ is the one hushing her like he'd always been there to hush his crying child, petting the shaking girl softly and that way, leaving Marie with the option to do nothing but stare. Even when the coughing subsides and the panic seems to fade, the shaking doesn't.

 

"Mom?" The girl whispers, still clutching onto John and with wet hair almost hiding her eyes. But Marie, she sees them, and she sees something she's never seen before. Only, she can't put her finger on it and right now, it doesn't weight much anyway.

 

"It's okay, kiddo, just calm down," she tells her, resisting the urge to cup her face and kiss her forehead, to lie, "it's gonna be okay."

 

Shelby draws in a breath, deep, calming, and _then_ she glances to her side, taking in her surroundings fully - and realizes it actually isn't her mother she's holding onto for life.

 

"What-" That's as far as she gets before Marie interrupts her, saying, "that's John. You know, your-" stupid, arrogant, idiotic, cold-hearted killer of a "-father."


	3. winter in my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post X3 | _It's almost dark already, cold, and he figures that's why she's wearing one of his jackets - not that she'd need it, if she actually knew how to control her power better. She's so small, though, so fucking tiny, that it's really more like the jacket is wearing her; she is drowning in it, he notes, and somewhere deep inside him something stirs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PROMPT:** 048 december

He'd asked for _so_ little, _honestly._  
  
  
At least he thought so a moment ago. So when the two mutants John ordered to stay with the _kid_ at all times knock on his door and walk into his office, ashamed, it requires all his willpower not to throw a fucking tantrum and blow them to pieces. Or, technically, torch them to ashes.   
  
  
He does, however, cock his head to one side in attempt to restrain his anger - a sign the two men recognize all too well and which makes them exchange hesitant glances. At least it seems to work… breathe, swallow, and a _fucking_ repeat. Eventually, it leads to calming down. Okay, there. _Good._  
  
  
"How the _fuck_ can you lose a little girl?" He demands, standing up from behind his desk. It's not like he'd asked them to grow a pair of wings and go find another planet for the mutant race to inhabit… Now, a planet where to stick the humans…now _that_ then again, is definitely a thought worth pursuing, isn't it?   
  
  
Although, right this minute? Yeah, _so_ , not important.  
  
  
Back to business; the _burning_ glare he gives his employees makes them gulp in fear - it usually does. Pyro, he's a damn good leader to have when it comes to fighting the enemy or simply pissing someone off, they know that, but they also know you don't want to get on his black list because you don't live long if you do. And well, they're kind of fond of their lives and all. Magneto sure trained him well, didn't he?  
  
  
The nearly stuttered explanations, they make John smirk - but only on the inside. On the outside he's nothing but hot, liquid anger. _Fire._  
  
  
Well, the way John sees it? These guys sure as hell don't need to know what kind of thoughts he's got storming on his mind right now. It's bad enough they _know_ he once upon a time slept with a damn human and went as far as fathering a child. Unknowingly, sure, but inside their pretty little heads, no one gives a shit about that piece of info in these crowds and he can tell.   
  
  
_Scarlet_ would call him paranoid -did, actually- but hey, that's what's kept him alive this long. Why throw a good thing away?  
  
  
Sure, things haven't changed much. Yet. Give it some time and soon no one will remember that when he did find out about her, he chose to stay with his kind, far from her… And the more time goes by, the less they'll fear him… and well, that's not good. And, if some genius actually does dig up the real reason for the distance he kept, well, _hello_ pain and suffering. Goodbye wealth and reputation.  
  
  
Yeah, the truth is that if he doesn't come up with a way to preserve both the situation _and_ the fear as they are… well, things will simply get ugly, hot and damn _conflicted._ Two of those he doesn't care for, _at all._  
  
  
He sighs, returning his attention to the expectant figures in front of him.   
  
  
… But when a few minutes go by without him actually _saying_ anything, the other culprit decides to try and smooth it, "She took us by surprise," he says and if he wasn't talking about a 12-year-old, it might have worked as an explanation - but in this case? Not so much. "She's surprisingly smart," he continues, not realizing how thin the ice underneath him just got, "Cunning, even."  
  
  
John's eyebrow quirks in sarcasm. Surprisingly smart? Cunning? Imagine that.   
  
  
Would they take it the wrong way if he snorted and rolled his eyes? Probably.  
  
  
Oh well. He goes with the snort and lets the roll go.  
  
  
Of course the kid's fucking cunning and damn smart! She's got his genes, after all, so what the hell did they expect? Idiots. Honestly, were where they when he told them, _twice_ and with the famous glare, that they shouldn't buy anything - not a damn word she says or even let her come too close? The "she's got that killer skin of her mother's now" wasn't clear enough for those dumbass jerks?   
  
  
Guess not. Fine. Maybe it's time to renew the whole fucking staff, then. He can live with that.  
  
  
"Go away," John barks after a moment of pensive silence, startling the shaky mutants, "I'll find her myself. Just don't let Rogue know she's missing, alright?" The last thing he needs is Rogue breathing down on his neck like the little mommy tiger she is. He's had his fair share of that already, okay? Yeah, _stalking_ him, bothering him, asking question after question after question - those are practically the only things she's been doing ever since the kid woke up last night and now that he finally got her to attempt resting, there's no way in hell he'll let something like _this_ reach her ears.  
  
  
Because _that_ if anything would be ugly.  
  
  
"Think you boys can handle that, huh?" He drawls and the _boys_ are smart enough not to respond the baiting comment and for that, he's glad. They only nod, eyes nailed to the floor, and leave the room quietly.   
  
  
Fucking _great._ As if he didn't have enough things on his mind because of the _royally_ fucked up situation, but now he's got to go and find the runaway child, who, _obviously,_ can't take a fucking order? He _told_ her to stay put, didn't he? Yes, he did. The damn doctor told her to stay put. Repeatedly. _Rogue_ told her to stay put… Although, honestly, after recovering from the shock and realizing just _what_ her mother had left untold, the kid hadn't exactly been in the mood to listen to a single word the woman had to say.  
  
  
Not that he'd blame her. That was to be expected. Running away? That was kind of expected, too, which is exactly _why_ he ordered his men to watch the kid in the first place. Oh, well, you get what you pay for. Never sleep with an X-Man.  
  
  
The good thing is he only has to think about it for five minutes, if even that, before it becomes perfectly clear to him where she'll most likely be. How he can tell, he doesn't know, but he's got a hunch and that's that.   
  
  
_Man._ Some security system upgrading is needed, that's for sure. If they can't even find a little girl without his help, well, then something's obviously wrong. He sighs, wiping his face as if to chase away the exhaustion and then, pushes himself to get on the move.  
  
  
John finds her from the roof, standing on the edge and looking down.  
  
  
It's almost dark already, _cold,_ and he figures that's why she's wearing one of his jackets - not that she'd need it, if she actually knew how to control her power better. She's so small, though, so fucking tiny, that it's really more like the jacket is wearing her; she is drowning in it, he notes, and somewhere deep inside him something stirs.   
  
  
What the hell have they been teaching her in that school of hers anyway if she can't even handle the cold? He'll just have to look into that, won't he?  
  
  
She heard the door open, recognized the soft creak, and so she knows someone's there, but doesn't look over her shoulder to see who exactly dares to disturb her.   
  
  
Plus, he has a feeling she knows already.   
  
  
For a minute and a half John simply stands there in weirdly peaceful silence, but soon enough he finally figures it's time to move. The kid will freeze her ass off soon if they don't.  
  
  
"What you doing here?" He asks, calm, and closes the door behind him. The wind blows her hair, and his, and yeah, it _is_ damn cold, but it doesn't bother him. Not for long, because the moment the cold starts to eat its way through his skin, his temperature rises on its own and all is good again.  
  
  
She inhales loudly, almost as if to deliver a point and says, "The view, it's pretty amazing." Pretty self-explanatory, right?   
  
  
Maybe, but it doesn't sound like something a kid would say and honestly, something about her appearance seems weird, too. Different, somehow - almost as if the truth had added a decade to her age. He frowns and takes a hesitant step closer. Fine, it's true he hasn't spent that much time near her, not this close anyway and he can't deny that… but fuck, he _knows_ her. What is _this?_  
  
  
But he lets that go and drags his attention back to her comment… right, the view. Well, considering it's a damn skyscraper and a tall one at that, "Yeah," he agrees softly, "I know it is, but you really don't have to stand on the damn ledge to see it." When she doesn't seem to get the hint -or pretends she doesn't, that is-, John's eyes narrow, flashing, and he takes yet another step forward, only this time determined one. He practically ordered her to _move_ and she knows that… yet nothing happens.  
  
  
Is she _disobeying_ him? To his face? No, not gonna work, kiddo.  
  
  
That is why he, with the kind of demanding voice he normally uses only on his employees, adds, "Get down."   
  
  
"Don't tell me what to do!" Shelby snaps in irritation and throws a dirty glare over her shoulder before returning her eyes to the fall in front of her. When she speaks again, her voice is much composed, flavored with both sadness and anger, but still it's nothing more but a mere statement, "you're not my father."   
  
  
The fire in his veins surges hotter; the rage washes through. Oh, he isn't? Since when? He knew she'd be there, didn't he? And, hell, _he_ was the one to come after her. He could've just as well told those _idiots_ to come and correct their mistake.  
  
  
He _didn't._  
  
  
That's got to mean something, even to her.  
  
  
It might not be on her birth certificate - for which she can't actually blame him anyway, but, "Like it or not, kid, I am," John tells, consciously ignoring the slight sensation of disappointment at her claim. And maybe, just _maybe_ , it's the same disappointment and his attempt to ignore it that makes him chuckle and say, just out of spite, "Actually, I even think it's _my_ genes in that DNA cocktail of yours that told you to come up here. Great place to think and brood, you know."   
  
  
Like anyone who has spent enough time near Logan, _Wolverine_ , she knows sarcasm when she hears it, but instead of arguing, she surprises him with a surrendering shrug and a question he never knew to expect, "Did you kill them yet?" Now she actually turns around, meeting his eyes in a cold stare - only, from her eyes, the coldness fades away quickly and all that is left is easily detectable curiosity.  
  
  
"It depends," John responds with a casual shrug of his own, trying not think about how fucking huge the fall will be if she misses a step, "Who?"  
  
  
And they say he's smart? Whatever. "It's not like they could've done anything to stop me," she goes on with sad voice, "They fear me now."  
  
  
Ah, right, he gets it then. "Oh, _them._ No, I didn't kill them," he tells her. _Yet._  
  
  
He should've known, though. So fucking typical for _her_ kid to care about something as meaningless as that. His kid shouldn't, but yeah, trust her to fuck the kid's DNA for good. Like the whole killer skin wasn't enough. Not that he'd have anything against the skin, of course not, but he's got to admit it was _different_ when it was Rogue. But why it was, that's something he chooses _not_ to contemplate.   
  
  
One question at a time.   
  
  
"I glared at them, that's all" he continues then, indifferent, "but it seemed to work just the same."  
  
  
She tilts her head and the way she does, it knots his insides… and makes him go back to the first time he saw her. How the fuck could he not _see_ it then; _feel_ it? Even now, he can _sense_ her, practically _smell_ the fire within and it's the kind of connection he never thought he'd have. Whether it's a good thing or bad, he hasn't decided yet, but it doesn't exactly seem that bad, does it?   
  
  
"It's not that I care about whether you kill them or not," she says almost as if she'd read his mind and noted he's done with that particular train of thought, "I was just curious."  
  
  
Okay, how the fuck is he supposed to react to that, huh? What, is he supposed to tell her _good_ because really, she shouldn't care about those guys anyway, she's above them for fuck's sake, or to chide her for being so-  
  
  
Wait, who the hell is he kidding here?   
  
  
_"Good,"_ he tells meaningfully and smiles faintly. She on the other hand says nothing, just nods, accepting and glances to her side. Another silent moment passes by, only this time with her staring fixedly, away, and with him just watching her. _Seeing_ her.  
  
  
He knows; _feels_ what she's doing even before she does it. Or, better yet, even before she herself knows it. Maybe it's the connection telling him beforehand, or the years behind him, but the moment she absent-mindedly summons her power and ignites the small flame in her fingers, he's already fixed his anxious gaze upon her hand. At first it's a poor spark, then an uncontrolled flame, but as the realization dawns in and she actually _does_ notice, it morphs into a neat bolt.   
  
  
_Hell_ , Rogue had told him about this; he'd _known_ what she can do - what _he_ can do, but _more_ and his stomach squeezes with pride and pain and _fuck!_ Still… he's mesmerized; can't look away. So he watches in silence, enjoying the familiar, almost _identical_ way she plays with the bolt… before cruelly suffocating, _killing_ it with her fist.   
  
  
"Show-off," he snorts, but it comes out somehow wrong. Amused, _soft._  
  
  
That is when she finally looks up and as her eyes catch his again, _accusing,_ the spell is broken - it's like a cold smack against his face and the nearly visible smile disappears completely.   
  
  
"I used to think they were lies," she says innocently and so child-like, the way she's supposed to be, but he knows better. Something in this picture is so utterly _wrong_ that it makes sick to his stomach, twisting inside. And well, that alone is wrong, because _nothing_ is allowed to make him feel sick. Unless it involves a hangover and-  
  
  
His eyebrows furrow as a clear sign of confusion. Hold on, what the fuck is she talking about, anyway? And, more importantly, what the hell did those white coats give her? Is that it, is she _high_ on something?  
  
  
"Yeah, seriously," she insists, though he never even argued, "but that woman, _Emma…_ Frost, whatever her name was, her mind told me differently."  
  
  
Her mind… told differently? What the fuck?   
  
  
"About you," the girl continues, explaining and spreads her arms to her side, creating imaginary wings, "About mom."  
  
  
Okay, that's it. Even he can't handle everything.  
  
  
"Get down, now," John orders suddenly, strict, but it doesn't come as a surprise to her, "I'm not gonna tell you again."  
  
  
It's not a lie and she can tell - it's always the same with Mom. The feeling… But something forces her to say otherwise, "Yeah, you will," she tells him defiantly… and, as he notes, smiles maliciously.  
  
  
Oh, says who? Yeah, wouldn't be too sure about that. The kid obviously doesn't know everything yet - at least nothing of value, he figures, because no one, absolutely _no one_ , gives him a smile -or is that a _smirk?-_ as defiant as that. She'll learn, eventually and he'll make sure of that. Rogue's methods are a thing of a past, that's a stone hard fact.  
  
  
"Hey, kid," he chucks viciously, "for your information, I'm not afraid of you."  
  
  
Seriously. Either she's stepping down on her own, right now, or he's forcing her down. And after that, he decides, he'll just drag her downstairs to the infirmary and tell the fucking doctors to do their damn job and figure out what the _hell_ is wrong with his little girl! Also, he'll be sure to point out that they _will_ do that if they care about their pathetic lives, at all, because he's running out of patience and that's never good.   
  
  
They know that. At least they should.  
  
  
"It's not like you can stop me either," she points out matter-of-factly, interrupting his unvoiced rambling and for that, John simply gives her a knowing look. That so?  
  
  
"I didn't fear your mother," he says truthfully, "or her skin and I'm not about to start now."   
  
  
The claim draws a frown out of the little girl, because while she can _tell_ his words are true, she's still having trouble believing it. Probably because hell, "I could kill you."  
  
  
She's got a point, naturally, but she's so young and there are so many things she doesn't understand. Life's nothing without a little risk, right? "Yeah, well," he shrugs it off, eyes on her, "a bird could shit on my head any day but it doesn't keep me from going out."   
  
  
Shelby seems to think his words over, which gives him the most perfect opportunity to close the gap between them and grab her arm. Within a second and with a swift jerk, she's finally off the ledge and on the ground on her knees. He's pretty sure it hurt, a little, but she doesn't let out a single whimper or cry a tear.  
  
  
That's his girl, all right.  
  
  
John stays hunched over her, holds her arm firmly to drive his point home and only after a moment, leans closer and tells her, "you're not as tough as you act." But he sure appreciates the effort.  
  
  
Then, just as suddenly, she's pulled up and onto her own two feet and the minute she is, he takes a step back. John doesn't look apologetic, mainly because he isn't, and she in turn doesn't seem angry like he assumed she would.   
  
  
_Mainly,_ because she isn't.   
  
  
But she is curious. "Where is she?" The girl asks, clearly forgetting -or wanting to forget, anyway- the previous subject as well as the stunt he just pulled.   
  
  
Who, Rogue? Or, he corrects in aftermath, in this case, it'd probably be _Marie._ "Sleeping," John answers, but cautiously, because you never know… maybe she's trying to distract him, lull him into false sense of security before rushing to claw his eyes out the same way her mother always does… it could be genetic or something. "Or she's trying, anyway," he adds with one-sided shrug.  
  
  
She bites her bottom lip the way he knows she always does when there's a question ransacking her brain. He's seen it before.  
  
  
Just ask, kid. Fire away.  
  
  
"In your bed?"  
  
  
Okay, stop right there. Admittedly, it's not the question he thought he'd get, but whatever, at least she's still not attacking him. Now… sure, he could tell her the simple truth. He _could_ tell the kid that _yes_ , in his bed, but only because it was the only place where she seemed to calm down enough to sleep - or where he could lure her and lock her into, which is closer to the truth anyway, but instead he sucks his lip thoughtfully before asking, "Why, does it matter?"  
  
  
The look on Shelby's face doesn't change, it's as indifferent, as empty as it's been throughout most of the conversation. All she does, is shake her head with a quiet "no" while trying to remove the swirling locks from her face by tucking them behind her ear. They don't stay there for longer than a second, though.  
  
  
She's shivering again, which to John's ardent surprise, is something he actually _really_ doesn't like to see. It brings back last night and he doesn't like that, either.  
  
  
"Listen," he starts, clearing his throat, "we're gonna sort this out and you're gonna be okay." Technically, it's not a lie. If the obvious weirdness is set aside, she seems pretty _okay_ already. "Your mom's been harassing my men for hours and I'm pretty sure she'll continue that as soon as she's allowed to leave my room."   
  
  
Which, if he had his way, would be, well, _never._ Because the moment he unlocks the damn door and lets the furious woman out, she'll be at his face with clenched fists and keep harassing _him_ the same way she's been bothering his staff non-stop and that's something he'd like to avoid by any means necessary. Maybe he could tie her up and-   
  
  
A whisper interrupts his master plan. "She lied to me," she says, sad.  
  
  
Yeah, well, welcome to his life. "Yeah, well," John responds cynically, "she had her reasons."   
  
  
For fuck's sake… _why_ did he tell her that? He isn't supposed to say a word to make it easier for _her_ , not for Rogue. Let the woman clean up her own fucking mess - that's the plan. Or it was.  
  
  
At least his words have an effect - something in her eyes changes. They come to life and _that_ he does like.  
  
  
"Why are you defending her?" Shelby asks, voice thick - this time it holds signs of anger and frustration, "Even you hate her for lying."   
  
  
No, not actually - you see, "I don't hate her, kid," he corrects. He used to hate her? Check. He wants to hate her? Check. "I'm angry at her, furious, pissed off. But between those, there's a big difference, you know."   
  
  
In all honesty? The only time he's ever hated her… that was when she took the cure. Definite _check._  
  
  
"What's the cure?" She prompts immediately, but he chooses to ignore her question… which, he supposes, is probably not the best option to go with, but fuck, he's not gonna be the one to tell the kid about that. No, not when there's a chance she might damn well _want_ it, in which case, he'd have to also be the one to tell her she can't. Not ever.   
  
  
So, instead, he goes with the second best option and distracts her by asking a question of his own. "Why did you touch her?" It's actually been bothering him more or less ever since Rogue explained him the details of what happened and well, Magneto _did_ teach him to never let an opportunity go wasted.   
  
  
She fidgets and brushes her chin against her shoulder to avoid his eyes.  
  
  
But when she does speak, her eyes return his again - and it makes his skin crawl.   
  
  
Demanding. _Pleading._ "Don't tell mom, okay?"   
  
  
If it was anyone else, any other situation, he'd probably decline for no reason. Actually, not probably - he _would_ decline for no reason and he'd enjoy it, too. But it doesn't occur to him this time… maybe it's okay for him to blame it on the connection, on her _genes_ , on the fact she's got his eyes, because damn, he hears himself agreeing, "Okay."  
  
  
Suddenly she tears her eyes from his and gazes the floor… and _giggles_ slightly.   
  
  
He frowns, more than little puzzled. What, she giggled? Alright, interesting… and definitely not something he expected to hear from her mouth. Like, _ever_ again.  
  
  
When she lifts her chin, this time there's a bright _smirk_ on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes and she says, mischievously and not a bit sorry, "I wanted to burn her brains."  
  
  
Her words, they bring his trademark smirk back to its rightful throne.  
  
  
"Yep," John tells her with an amused snort, "Definitely my genes, kid."  
  
  
And, well, maybe _that_ is exactly what makes Shelby's smirk deepen. "Mine now," she shoots back sarcastically and with a clearly hostile pause, " _Dad."_


	4. somnolence (it’s all about banked embers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post X3 | _It also worries him, a little, because there’s always been only one thing in the whole world that has ever managed to calm his nerves like nothing else - and it has always, always been fire. Just fire. Up until now, it would seem._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PROMPT:** 032 doll

_Click, click, click._  
  
  
The metallic sounds echo in the dimly lit spaces, roam around the expensively furnished hallway and visit the small bedroom it’s connected to. To think of it, the sharp noises can probably be heard through-out the whole flat, but John Allerdyce's not that concerned about it. _At all_ , actually.  
  
  
Well, _shit,_ it _is_ his flat anyways--  
  
  
or it was before they took over with their hairbrushes and lipglosses and God knows what else.  
  
  
And hell if he isn't entitled to do whatever the fuck he wants inside these damn walls just _because!_  
  
  
The sooner the two ladies learn and memorize _that_ small piece of information, the better for everyone!  
  
  
 _And!_ \--  
  
  
He heaves a tired sigh while rolling his shoulders in another wasted attempt to release the strain and then, against all odds, simply _lets_ the train of thought go. No doubt it's a battle he's determined to win, at some point, but just not in this red instance... Seeing as there's no one with whom to actually _battle_ besides himself.  
  
  
At least not awake, that is.  
  
  
It's become a habit of sorts, one that she's entirely aware of though she never shows it. Every single time he leaves the flat, no matter what, he stops there at her door to look at her for a moment. Be it a fleeting second or a minute or two, he stops and stands and _stares_ in complete silence, never saying a word. Never expecting a word, either.  
  
  
On most occasions the kid ignores John on purpose and simply turns her back to the unwanted visitor continuing whatever it was that he walked in on.  
  
  
Sometimes she's way stealthier than that - that's when she chooses to pretend she's asleep, clearly thinking her _father_ can't tell the difference. But he can, easily. He's not sure why, or how, but he's smart enough to realise it's probably got something to do with the _fire_ in their veins because in the most peculiar way, even the air around her feels different somehow when she's actually up and alert. Warm, fierce... electric.  
  
  
The bedroom door is open, like he’s noticed it often is and _still_ – or maybe because of that, the little girl is sleeping as soundly as if there was no one there watching her in the dark. The fact that her deep slumber doesn’t seem a bit bothered by his sudden presence or by the sounds his lighter keeps making, brings a proud, dare say, victorious smirk to his lips.  
  
  
He whispers, “Good girl” to no one in particular, but what he really means to say is _‘my girl’_ and those words are meant for her.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
After a few minutes go by, he fidgets like only a nervous man does. And then, almost as if to test how cold the waters truly are, he tries something he hasn't before. Not ever.  
  
  
John takes a hesitant step closer, cocking his head in anticipation but nothing happens. Then a few more, _one, two, three, four_ or so, all the way across the room until he reaches the bed. He stops only when the wooden edge is so close it’s nearly touching his legs. He waits, but his patience only lasts for a moment. A very _short_ moment, too, after which he continues the same old routine of-  
  
  
 _Click, click, click._  
  
  
He’s been doing it, clicking the lighter, right there in hearing distance for about five minutes now - perhaps even longer, he can't tell for sure. Truthfully so, he tried to keep track of time, really, _he did_ , but managed to lose the count of the clock’s ticks (and the _clicks_ of his own making) awhile ago.  
  
  
There's one thing he's sure of though, and it's that all the while he’s stood there, hovered above her like a ghost in the night, she has _not_ moved a muscle. Hasn’t made a single sound or shown any signs of disturbance. Even the steady rhythm of her breathing has stayed the same ever since he first entered the room.  
  
  
Or, you know, if anything, the rhythm has only got steadier, more even, _more_ peaceful.  
  
  
There's something warm and soothing prickling in the core of his spine and it takes a moment before he understands it's _her._  
  
  
The realisation wipes off the malicious smirk, completely – and while he’s too busy to notice it, the dying smirk leaves only a gentle smile in its wake. Naturally, if he _did_ notice, the smile would be gone in the matter of seconds... but it doesn’t change the fact it’s there, _now._  
  
  
Not knowing what to do, how to proceed exactly, he goes with the only option he can come up with. A careful _click_ followed by a short pause. The kind of pause during which he tilts his head again, observing, _wondering_ , and another round of _clicks_ cut the air. Just in spite. _Just_ to see. To know for sure.  
  
  
This time she lets out a muffled sound, something that could be defined either as a snarl or a purr (or a bit of both) and he’s tempted to laugh aloud. Instead, the smile only softens.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
Twenty minutes and counting. Or more, whatever, what does it matter anyway?  
  
  
With no plans for the evening he’s in no obvious hurry and she’s, as proven, fast asleep. It’s the middle of the night, later even, and there’s nothing and no one expecting him, nowhere.  
  
  
Well, just Scarlet, maybe. That, however, is no cause for worry; has never been. He knows her and the way her mind works, and she sure as hell _knows_ him. Knows him better than to stay up and _wait_ for an appearance that might or might not take place at all, depending on his stormy mood. He’s slept in her bed for six nights in a row, there's no denying that, but somehow he doesn’t feel like leaving the kid alone… nor Rogue. Not tonight, anyway.  
  
  
 _Why not, John?_ Nothing’s changed. So, why the _hell_ not?  
  
  
He'd like to think it's just temporary, just for tonight. Maybe it is.  
  
  
 _Who cares, honestly?_ He growls at himself, frustrated as hell, because fuck, _no one cares, absolutely no one and hell-_  
  
  
Only, damnit, it’s a lie and he can tell. It sucks, really, but he does _care._  
  
  
Moreover, realising that, it irritates him and makes his skin crawl; the tension headache is already there, eating its way from the back of his skull to the front. He's John Allerdyce, _Pyro_ for fuck’s sake and _he_ of all mutants, he's not supposed to care or worry about stupid, irrelevant things-  
  
  
about _them._  
  
  
Because even when it's not known to all, there's still a _war_ raging between the different stages of evolution and in that struggle, there's no place for such a thing as caring. It's a damn character flaw, a weakness, that's what it is... and he cannot afford those.  
  
  
So, yes, it’s freaking him out, the fact he sort of does _care_ (even if it's just a little), and he doesn’t want to think about it more. _So, don’t._ And he tries not to.  
  
  
The mutant lets his eyes focus on the sleeping figure to try and keep his mind from dwelling upon those highly unnerving thoughts. She’s put herself in a somewhat odd position, at least he thinks she has and if he wasn’t so damn afraid of waking her up, he’d move her a little. Just enough to ensure she won’t cut off her own blood circulation or something.  
  
  
Well, she’s a _kid_ and they are known to be idiotic, at times. In other words, anything is possible.  
  
  
He figures it's a reasonable worry since she’s lying on her right side, stiff as ever with fingers laced together and placed underneath her chin in a (what he thinks to be) rather self-protective manner. He’s pretty sure her back will kill her tomorrow but then, she _is_ a kid so, maybe not. Half of her cheek is covered with brown locks of bushy hair as the side of her face is resting against the pillow - on which, he notes with a hanging smirk, there’s also something that looks a lot like a small pool of drool.  
  
  
But the amusement doesn't last for long, as in the next minute, the sight actually summons back a nearly lost memory.  
  
  
That one night years and years ago, the _first_ and _only_ night, that is how her _mother_ looked when he woke up next to her. That's _exactly_ how she looked when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, careful not to wake her up. And she remained the same while he gathered his wrinkled clothes from the floor and _left_ her to greet the morning on her own.  
  
  
The kid, he has to admit, she’s as beautiful as her mother has always been - but then, he likes to think his genes have got something to do with it, too, and that it’s not all _her_. Well, she’s got his gift, does she not?  
  
  
And in the aftermath of that one simple thought, his shoulders relax, the headache disappears and the air, it flows all the way to his lungs and out again, free of all restraints. Such a simple thing and yet, he’s missed that. A lot.  
  
  
It also worries him, a little, because there’s always been only one thing in the whole world that has ever managed to calm his nerves like nothing else - and it has always, _always_ been fire. Just fire.  
  
  
Up until now, it would seem.  
  
  
But maybe, he concludes with a knowing grin and a quick quirk of an eyebrow, _maybe_ it’s all ‘cause in the end-  
  
  
she _was_ born from fire, wasn't she?  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
It’s an hour and half (and lots and lots of _clicks_ ) later that he decides it’d be best to give up on staring and _just go to bed._ It's not like she wouldn't be safe and secure if he left the room, or even the building. Hell, he could even leave the country if he wanted to and be sure of her safety... It's not likely for his men to make the same mistake twice, so.  
  
  
Yet knowing all that makes no difference and even after he’s ordered his body to move (several times), commanded himself to get out of her room and go to his own, a moment later he’s still _right there_ beside her bed like a statue, watching.  
  
  
 _Protecting._  
  
  
(For another hour and half.)  
  
  
A lot later, when John finally _does_ move, it's only because he knows that when she wakes up in the morning, she'll wake up to find his lighter standing on her nightstand; and for now it's more than enough, because she'll _understand_ what it means--  
  
  
even if he doesn't.


	5. fuel for the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post X3 | _“I really appreciate what you’ve done for us, sort of, even though I honestly don’t understand why you’ve done any of it, but – but this is not the kind of life I want for my daughter.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PROMPT:** 005 redeemer 
> 
> **Thank you so much** for all the lovely comments (and reviews and messages and even emails!!) I've gotten regarding this fic series during these years. Your support and patience really does mean a lot to me and honestly, it is the only reason I haven't given up on writing this thing though on many occasions, I've just wanted to forget the whole damn story. With this piece done, UNVEILED is now officially finished as I've written all the parts I planned to write. Of course, since it's me we're talking about, there's always the possibility the series will get more random parts (I've already had one in mind for years, eh), but we'll see about that.
> 
> (Song by Ari Koivunen)

_"a beacon in the dark, a guide along my way_  
 _your shine keeps me from going astray_  
 _-_  
 _my pulse is rising and it's pounding in my head_  
 _your light is strength where ever I tread_ ”

 

Sometimes Marie wonders if she’s just dreaming. Seeing some weird, _twisted_ nightmare in which she’s chained to the one man she never thought she’d see again, trapped into a luxurious apartment she sort of likes more than hates – living, in a way, the kind of life she used to wonder about. If only she’d been born to a different set of parents, with a different set of genetic coding. Yeah, it’s the all too famous _what if._

It’s just that, she’s a Mother now; one in a very complicated situation, with a one demanding child, at that. And well, mothers in general, they can’t always afford either of those – not the famous _what ifs_ and little less the complications.

 

And for that, she was forced to make a decision. Considering everything, that part was rather easy. She’d known the moment she’d stepped into that glorious flat she’d have to make a decision for both her and her daughter in the coming days - instead of letting _him_ order her around as if she had no mind of her own. As if he’d know what was best for _her_ child.

 

Sharing the made decision with the man in question, that would be the hard part; the part she’d rather leave undone... _Take a deep breath now, you can do this._

 

She walks into the club as if she belongs; her head held up high and with the kind of calm aura that makes no one in the crowd question her presence. Not that anyone would even notice her, really, for she’s got most of her clothes _on_ unlike rest of the ladies there.

 

There was a long line at the club’s front door but either the bouncer recognized her or simply liked her looks because all she had to do was walk up to him and the mountain of a man had stepped aside to let her in, nodding slightly. She wonders whether he’d been under an order to let her pass, but then again, not likely. The queue had been formed mostly by men, so maybe he had thought she was hunting for a job and let her in because of that. Maybe he _did_ like her looks, then. She sighs, half-amused.

 

The staircase in front of her takes her down to a dance floor full of people. There’s a band playing golden oldies near the back wall, on some sort of small stage and any other day, she’d consider them okay. The music is a bit too loud, sure, but in that sense it really _is_ just like any other club in the area. She finds it interesting, actually.

 

Despite that, or maybe _because_ of that, _the Hellfire Club_ is nothing like what she imagined it to be. Well, okay, the half-naked ladies and the smell of alcohol, the drunken males, the hands, and everything that comes along with those, that’s what she knew to expect given the character of the presumed _owner,_ but the interior design, the place itself – it all seems somehow out of this world; all purple and blue and _rich_ in colors and curtains and disco-balls _._ For a moment she feels like she’d just stepped into the 60’s and she can see how someone would _like_ being there. It’s sort of magical, the kind of place where you can forget all about the reality and just go with the flow, forget the now.

 

Of course, underneath the relaxed first impression, there is a lot darker secret hidden from the world of _ordinaries_ and in her case, not even the design can distract her from the truth… She’s a Mother on mission, after all.

 

She breathes in, once, to pick up her posture (because she’s _the_ Marie D’Ancanto, _Rogue_ for fuck’s sake) and when done, continues towards the bar for some info. Isn’t that how it always works in the movies, huh? The bartender seems busy, but perhaps it’s the shared X chromosome because the moment Marie’s hands grab the edge of the counter, the woman on the other side ignores the men who were there first and turns to look at the newcomer instead, smiling slightly. Her eyes are bright, capturing.

 

“What can I give you, sugar?” The woman asks leaning closer and there’s something about her voice, something so soft and sweet and tempting that it makes her throat dry.

 

Marie, she swallows, _hard_ , before confessing her reason for being there. “I’m looking for _Pyro_ ,” she explains. She notices her own mistake immediately; she hadn’t actually meant to be _that_ straightforward about it, she’d meant to say _Allerdyce_ but didn’t. Marie, she doesn’t correct her slip of tongue, however, for that’d be even more suspicious. Too late to do anything about it, so instead, she continues as casually as possible, “I was told he’d be here tonight.”

 

Something, perhaps recognition if possible, flashes in the bartender’s eyes - the softness and sweetness and the temptation, all gone like a spell broken. Marie blinks, puzzled. A puff of air escapes her lips, a breath she’d been holding without realizing and her skin crawls.

 

 

“Oh, right,” the bartender sighs in a much colder tone and from what Marie can tell, she seems _disappointed_ when adding, “I’ll send him a message.” She goes back to her work then, back to pouring drinks, to playfully chatting with the men, to _flirting_ and Marie is more than tempted to ask just _when_ she’d actually bother to send the damn message because it’s not like she’s got all day. _I have a daughter at home, you know._

 

Surprisingly, though, it takes less than five minutes for John to appear to her side, grabbing her arm as if to prevent her grand escape which is pretty weird, seeing as Marie never saw the bartender sending any messages and because it’s not like she’s planning to run away screaming - she’s the one who came looking for _him,_ not the other way round.

 

She glances to her side, but his eyes are directed at the bartender and it kind of pisses her off, being treated like a fucking child. As if she wasn’t there. For a second she wonders if _this_ is the woman whose bed he’s been warming ever since they moved in to his penthouse but drops the thought immediately, not wanting to go _there._ None of her business and it’s not like she even cares, so.

 

He looks more convivial than usually but that’s probably because he’s wearing a neat cocktail jacket, which is very unlike him _. Well, no, that’s not true,_ she tells herself then. _It’s very unlike the teenager you knew, but he’s no teen anymore._ No matter what he’s wearing, though, there’s still that normal _defiance_ of his shining through, not at all forgotten. In fact, it’s written all over his worn-out jeans and a little bit too long, disheveled hair. Some things never change, she concludes.

 

“Thanks, Celeste,” he says and the bartender, this _Celeste-_ person, gives him an impassive smile, lacking all emotion. Not the kind of glance a lover would give, surely? Marie isn’t sure how to take it so she figures it’s better to ignore the whole thing. As said, none of her business, right?

 

It’s only then that his eyes find hers and as they do, his jawline tenses and his gaze darken the way it usually does when she’s nearby. She kind of hates it, truth be told.

 

She speaks first, just to make sure he _won’t_ get the pleasure of doing so and tells him defiantly, “Should’ve known I’d find you from a sex club.”

 

“I don’t have to justify any of my actions to you,” he says, matter-of-fact.

 

“No, you don’t,” she admits with a small nod, regretting her own words more than a little. For once he’s completely right and she hates being so childish when it comes to him, but, “Doesn’t change the fact I need to speak with you, though.”

 

“This couldn’t wait till I get home?” He questions.

 

She swallows the harsh reply and goes with a slightly less attacking version. “I didn’t know when you’d come… _home._ So, if you don’t mind, could we just talk now and get this over with? I’m tired.”

 

He narrows his eyes and she’s not sure how to take that, either.

 

So, she adds, although a little hesitantly, the words _in private_ while glancing at the bartender quickly. No way in hell she’ll have this conversation in front of _her_ because there’s just something damn straight weird about this woman.

 

He sighs, eyes locked with hers and then, with a small shake of his head, he says, “I won’t like this, will I?”

 

Marie shrugs and tells him as truthfully as she can that, “Probably not. Which is why I’m thinking you really don’t want to have this conversation here at the bar, ‘kay?”

 

His fingers don’t leave her arm the way she thought they would but instead, his hand carefully guides her through the crowd into an empty booth. “Sit down,” he says and she does as she’s told, sitting on the long round sofa not saying a word. He pulls the curtains and by doing so, separates them from rest of the club. After doing so, he sits down as well.

 

Just as she’s about to start, about to say something to get it over and done, he raises his hand in rejection. She frowns, confused. “Not yet,” he tells her simply, a little amused perhaps, and before she can say another word, he touches the center piece of the table and the booth starts moving. She swallows the yelp.

 

Then all of a sudden she’s facing a beautiful room, full of dark wood and the same rich colors all over as in the bar. If she’d had to guess, she’d say the room has looked the same for years and years but she doesn’t ask. There’s an old looking fancy desk on the right side of the room and a table with black chairs on the left. Definitely not what she expected, she gives him that.

 

He gets up first, eyeing her curiously. Marie can feel the questions on her skin, burning, as she stands up slowly. “Very different from your skyscraper office,” she says then because she can’t think of anything else to say.

 

“Well, it’s not actually mine,” he tells her, gesturing her towards the small table and the chairs, “It’s my associate’s but she’s not here, so we might as well borrow it.”

 

 _She_ , is it? There it is, that gut-feeling again.

 

“I thought you own this place,” she says, still taking in her surroundings. Actually, now that she thinks about it, no one had ever said the words but somehow she’d gotten the impression nevertheless. She can’t help but wonder if the whole club is in fact _hers._

He snorts, the way he often does. “When are you going to realize that not all of your assumptions concerning me are true, hmm?”

 

Marie sits down, again, but to her surprise, he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at her with his arms folded. Then again, she should have guessed he’d hover above her like that, all grand and mighty and ready for battle, determined to win.

 

  
“So, what have I done wrong now?” He questions out of blue and there’s something weird about his voice. It takes a minute for her brain to register it; he sounds not angry and defiant the way she expected him to, but more like tired and defeated. Everything she’d planned to say, every little detail she’d planned to throw at his face… _gone._

She blinks, stumbling inside her own head, “It’s not… I don’t… I didn’t mean to...” The right words, her best and only weapon of late, they seem to fail her horribly and she hates feeling so… weak. With a deep exhale, she takes a moment to gather her thoughts and goes again, this time stronger, “First of all, I was wondering if there’s any news of Logan. You promised to look into it.” It’s a question in disguise and he knows it. Just like he knows how much it pains her to have to ask it.

 

She can’t even bear to think about it, not without feeling guilt and heartache, the way she left Logan there in a futile attempt to save her daughter from that lunatic Frost. It’s kind of ironic how in the end it’d been Shelby who’d saved them, not by running away but by confronting their enemy and after that, when Marie had been too broken and powerless to do anything to ease her daughter’s pain, it’d been John to help them.

 

“And I have,” he says, leaning his behind against the massive desk, “but my men, they’ve found nothing. There’s no sign of him, no trace and we have absolutely no idea what happened to him after the…” there’s a pause and a muscle in his jaw tenses once more, “ _incident.”_ To Marie it sounds almost as if he’d been trying to save her from more pain by choosing his last word carefully, but that can’t be. He’d never do anything that kind for her, not ever.

She forces herself to speak, because she _has_ to be sure, “You wouldn’t lie to me about it, would you? I mean I know you don’t exactly like him, but he’s always been there for us and he did protect Shelby the best he could so…“

 

He frowns, slightly, and for a second she almost believes her obvious doubt _offended_ him, but the frown disappears as soon as he opens his mouth to say the next words, “I wouldn’t lie about this to you because I’ve no reason to, okay?” he tells. “And you’re right, from what I’ve gathered, he’s always been there to protect your ass and most importantly, _hers_.”

_Hers_ , she notes. That’s an improvement of some sort, isn’t it? Up until now their daughter has always been just ‘the kid’ to him, no emotional ties.

 

“Yeah,” she says, letting it go instead of using it against him – that is not the kind person she wants to be -, and then, “also, I want to move out.”

 

“Fine, you can do that,” he tells her without a beat. His eyes give nothing, not a single fragment of emotion, but she knows him well enough. Well enough to know _better -_ it’s not that easy, nothing important ever is when it comes to him. He’s one clever son of a bitch, that’s for sure.

 

“I want to move out with Shelby, that is,” she clarifies and to that, he shakes his head and says exactly what she expected him to say. “No.” Just one word, that’s it - no explanations, no nothing, just that one word as if his was the law and her duty to obey.

 

Well, she’d known it wouldn’t be that simple, she’d known he’d fight just in spite if for no other reason. Why he bothers, that’s the part she still doesn’t understand. It’s not like he’d cared about Marie in the past and it’s not like he’d really care about their daughter now, so what the fuck, really?

 

 _What have I done to deserve this?_ She’s been wondering that for years now.

“Listen, I’m not one your mutants you can order around any way you please - I’m not here for your entertainment,” she exclaims, trying her best not to lose it because giving into a fight with him is like fighting a windmill. It isn’t going to solve anything and she knows that so another path must be chosen, “I really appreciate what you’ve done for us, sort of, even though I honestly don’t understand why you’ve done any of it, but – _but_ this is not the kind of life I want for my daughter.”

 

His eyes burn holes into hers, radiating all of a sudden, but she can’t look away. She can’t give him the satisfaction of doing so, not now.

 

“It was fine as long as I paid for it,” John says surprisingly calmly, a challenging glint shimmering in his eyes.

 

She’d known to expect those words too, because yes, he’s right in a way, but, “Look, it was different having her go into a school that acknowledges mutants and goes through the Brotherhood’s history in some manner, but it’s not the same as having her live in the middle of it, _knowing_ who you are and _seeing_ what you do in the name of Magneto. I don’t want her to be on either side of this war and I don’t want her to, you know, I-“

 

“You don’t want her to grow up to be me, I get it,” he voices the truth in a way she couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ “But get this, too, _Marie_ – she’s my blood and flesh, just as much as yours. The simple truth is that she can’t avoid the war; it’ll catch up to her eventually. And no, she’s not moving out.”

 

She wants to scream _why,_ but doesn’t. She wants to ask him what difference does it make to him, how they live their life and where?

 

“I don’t understand you, seriously. You never wanted her anyway, you never cared,” Marie says, _accusing,_ all the while staring into his eyes and trying to find the unspoken answers to her questions. Her hands speak with her voice, not that she’d even notice the way they move in the air as she talks, heated. “Do you really hate me this much?”

 

His eyes flash, darken yet again if even possible, but she pushes the issue forward because it’s the only way to go, there’s no turning back now. These things need to be said, now. “You’d destroy her and the peaceful life she could have just to get back at me for – hell, I don’t even know for what. I don’t know why you hate me so much, _John,_ I really don’t _._ ” She congratulates herself for being able to sound so casual, so normal; as if every fiber of her being wasn’t in pain because of that _hate._

 

He takes a step closer, one hand coming to his own chin, pensive. “Is that what you think?” He questions then, surprisingly soft. “Is that why you want to move out? Because you think I hate you?”

 

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say and when she finally finds the words, she’s pretty sure she’ll regret them later. When he turns them around on her and twists them into something totally different, something painful and ugly, that’s when. And still, she says them, shrugging, “it’s your home and since we moved in, you haven’t slept there a single night. It’s been a week or so and every night, you disappear, you’re barely there. I take it it’s because you don’t want to spend a night under the same roof with me and that’s fine, that’s your decision and your right, but I’m not going to stay there feeling like a burden to you. And if you had any idea how it feels to be there, with all of your men talking behind my back, _hating_ me for the choices I made as a kid, just the way you seem to do for a reason I can’t even understand, you wouldn’t want to be there either… if it was you, I mean.”

 

After that, she feels more than vulnerable. She feels completely exposed, in fact, and the longer she sits with him standing there in silence, the harder it is for her to breathe. So she gets up on her feet to give her body something to do; her hands coming up to her chest, protective, and she says, “I think you’ve made me suffer enough, okay? I really do think it’s time for you to forgive me, whatever it is that I did to you back then, and be done with it.”She’s thinking, _perhaps I can in return forgive you after that,_ but leaves it unsaid.

 

And finally, _finally,_ he reacts.

 

He moves, so fast, that she takes a step back, expecting to be hurt any second now, somehow. She squeezes her eyes shut, _instinct_ perhaps, and it does hurt, his fingers digging into her arms - that _hurts._ She whines, nearly pleading for him to stop.

 

But then, when she’s unexpectedly pulled into a kiss, her eyes snap open.

 

He’s kissing her roughly, _why,_ and Marie, she doesn’t know what to do about _it_ , with this feeling in the pit of her stomach, crawling up and down her spine like electricity. She can feel his body pressing up against hers and it feels familiar, _right,_ the way it did even then.

 

He’s staring right into her eyes, challenging her, and that’s what gets her attention.

 

With all her strength, she pushes him away, gasping and gaping and not being able to think straight. She can’t comprehend what kind of sick game he’s playing now, can’t figure it out for the life of hers. It has to be a game, a trick, a mind-fuck. _It’s Pyro, it’s what he does._

 

“You've got it all wrong, _Rogue_ ,” the mutant in front of her says gently, as if that answered all of her questions. What it does, in reality, is create more questions.

 

“Don’t, don’t call me that,” she whispers back instantly, because, “It’s not who I am, not anymore.”

 

John, he gives a small laugh, telling, “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll one day believe it.”

 

She can’t say another word for he continues right away; “And just so you know, I don’t always agree with you and I guess that’s more than obvious. Yeah, I hate the way you raised our child, hiding the truth and her heritage from her as if it wasn’t one of the things that make her so fucking special, you know? And yeah, I sure as hell don’t get it, the way you thought your own power was nothing but a curse from day one, or the way you view _hers_ just the same. Honestly, _Marie,_ mutants, we could rule the world if we all worked together but yet you and your merry gang would rather be slaves to humans than above them, the way we could be. _Should_ be! So yeah, you drive me crazy, but that’s the way it’s always been when it comes to you.” There’s that look on his face again, that look of sheer _Pyro_ bubbling but this time, it’s different. This time there’s something _humane_ about it, too, though she can’t tell exactly what.

 

Or why it nearly stops her breathing.

 

“Hell, you know what? I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he continues, with a somewhat harsh laughter following and something inside her, it nudges.

 

“I’d actually settle for _just_ being equals with those idiots. It’s all I ever wanted when I was a kid but they didn’t give me much choice, now did they?”

 

She’s not sure what he means, but the image of Logan being shot in the head, the rage and the fire, it all comes back to her like a shockwave. “But-“ she tries, confused, because-

 

“I’m not finished yet,” he interrupts simply, silencing her completely.

 

“Oh,” she breathes out. She’s trying to make sense of it but failing because _this_ , this is not how it was supposed to go. How did it get so messed up?

 

“So no,” he continues cocking his head to one side, gaze travelling on her body right back into her eyes, “I don’t fucking hate you, at least not most of the time. Sometimes I do, yeah, but not the way you think.”

 

Well, that’s… she doesn’t know what it is. Interesting, weird, unexpected - _a joke_? It would be just like him to mess with her this way, to come up with something as _cruel_ as this, to make her think there’s something more beneath the surface, and then spend the next month or two laughing at her for being stupid enough to believe. _To believe in what, Marie?_

 

“I don’t know what to think, what to say,” she confesses. There’s no point in lying for sniffing out lies, it’s become Pyro’s specialty these days and they both know it.

 

“That’s not my problem,” he throws back pointedly, “but you’re not taking the kid with you, if you decide to leave. I won’t have her go through what I went through, living in the middle of people who don’t understand her, who don’t give a fuck and who’d run away screaming if they knew the truth. She needs to be around her own, the kind of people who _do_ know and appreciate her just the way she is.“

 

Anger boiling, not hearing half the words coming out his mouth, she can’t help but raise her voice, just a little. “What the fuck do you care about what she _needs_ , John?” She barks, “You’ve _never_ cared!”

 

There’s a raw glare in his eyes when he speaks the words she never thought she’d hear him say. “Can you honestly say you gave me a chance to care about her?” he asks, “did you?”

 

“I-“

 

“Yeah, _you_ ,” he presses on like a goddamn district attorney, no mercy given, “you assumed I wouldn’t and that sealed the deal. At least for _you._ ”

 

She blinks, once.

 

This time it’s her and it takes them both by surprise. Marie, she finds herself moving towards him, feels her own fingers curling around the fabric of his jacket, squeezing, pulling, tearing. She stares into his eyes, _needy,_ and for the first time since they were kids, there’s something _more_ there. There’s something warm. She finds herself wondering briefly as to whether it’s always been there or not.

 

The kiss that follows those thoughts, it’s violent and hard the way he’s always been, draining and exploding with all the emotions she’s ever felt, ever _had_ to feel. She’s not even sure if something that _primitive_ can be called a kiss. It’s… something.

 

His hands go around her waist, pulling her as close as possible and _still_ it isn’t close enough, not for either of them.

 

It happens the exact same way it did before, just as unexpected, just as surreal (only this time neither of them walk away afterwards).

 

Before she can even think about what is happening, with _whom_ it’s happening, half of their clothes are gone, she’s on the floor and he’s inside her. Just like that.

 

He’s kissing her, or she’s kissing him – there’s no difference this time around. Hot breath on her cheek, hungry lips demanding more and more, skin and hands everywhere and the movement, _oh gods,_ the way he moves.

 

She moves against him, just as demanding, and she doesn’t stop to wonder how she looks, or how she sounds – not the way she’s always done with everyone else. Suddenly there’s no shame, there’s no limits.

 

12 years ago she’d been with a _boy,_ but apparently, not this time… Now there’s a man who knows what he wants, and what she wants, and when he’s done with the both of them, he rolls them over instead of crushing her underneath him. If the situation wasn’t what it is, she might find it cute.

 

Now she finds it absolutely terrifying.

 

Marie suddenly escapes his body onto the floor next to him, trying to redeem her naked chest with his jacket, staring at him. “Oh, my gods, oh, my gods”, she shrieks, a hand coming up to cover her mouth while the other holds the piece of clothing.

 

And he, he peacefully pulls his jeans up and zips them, all the way lying on the floor on his back.

 

What the fucking fuck?

 

“Okay,” he says as if nothing had happened, as if everything was the way it was supposed to be, “how about I sleep home from this day forward and you don’t move out?”

 

Just… “What?” She stares, baffled.

 

"Well, maybe not the best time for this conversation, given everything, but you do realize the kid's absorbed Frost's psyche, right?"

 

They just had sex on the floor of his presumed lover’s office and _that’s_ what pops into his head? Really?

 

 _Okay, I can do this._ "Yeah,” she says, ignoring the million questions screaming in her head and demanding to be asked. “I figured she might have, with the way she’s been acting, _knowing_ things.”

 

 _John,_ he sits up, brushing a hand through his now brown hair and sighs. "Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “so, you realize we have to do something about it, right? ‘Cause it's one thing for her to have the bitch's powers, they can prove useful, sure, but I  _really_  don't like the idea of having that slut inside her head 24/7."

 

She wants to ask _why,_ just to hear him say the words, but doesn’t. "Not a fan of that one either,” she admits carefully.

 

"Okay, just checking. It’s also why you can’t take her away because if you do, things could get really ugly. For one, she needs medical attention, the kind you _can’t_ offer her and you don’t know who else is after her. Frost, she came to your house for a reason, though we may never find out what it really was."                                                                                            

 

Suddenly it’s as if he _wanted_ to protect her and as much as it warms her insides, she can’t let it go – _if_ she didn’t have her powers, no one would have any reason to come after her. _Why can’t he see that?_

“But I-“

 

“No,” he interrupts her immediately, reading her mind perfectly, “We’re not going with the cure and I want you to know that you were wrong about something, _again._ I wouldn’t risk her life just because I want her to remain as she was meant to be, but as long as there are other options, I will _never_ allow you to take the easy way out of this and no, I wasn’t lying when I told you that if you try anything at all against my will, you’ll be removed from her life, permanently. I’ll do it myself, if I have to, trust me on this one.”

 

She doesn’t know how to reply and he doesn’t give her any time to come up with anything. Instead, he leans closer, a hand moving a strand of hair from her eyes behind her ear. She never thought he could be so gentle, not with anyone.

 

Then, all of a sudden, he smirks and pulls her hair softly before leaning back once again. He’s about to say something wicked, she can feel it in her gut.

 

“Also, just so you know… one of the reasons I haven’t been sleeping in my own bed is because I happen to know you’ve been occupying it since day one,” he tells her. “I would’ve stayed last night, but you were already there.”

 

She spits out the only word she can think of. “Fuck,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. She’d had no idea that he _knew._

 

“It’s okay,” he says and she’s half-sure aliens have something to do with all this _weird._ What had happened to the monster she thought he’d been?

 

“I figured you liked the familiarity and we both know you definitely needed the sleep, so, no harm done.”

 

It was true, she supposed, not that she liked admitting it. The first night she’d been so furious, so full of anger and hatred and rage that she’d been attacking everyone and everything, both physically as well as verbally. That night, he’d had her locked up into his room – he’d said it was only because it was practically next to Shelby’s room and because he couldn’t have her “act all mental”. She hadn’t known where he was but that night, she’d slept. The next night she’d been tossing and turning, not being able to sleep because of worry. Every other hour or so, she’d gone to drink or to the bathroom or to the fridge or to check on Shelby. When she’d yet again walked past his bedroom around 1am in the morning, he’d stopped her holding a phone against his chest, and told that she could sleep in his bed – she’d been infuriated and started throwing insults how she’d _never_ , but he’d interrupted her calmly and told her that what he really meant, was that she could sleep there _alone_ , closer to Shelby, because he had to spend the night elsewhere. “Because of work,” he’d said even though she hadn’t asked and with that said, he had returned to his phone call.

 

The night after that one, she hadn’t been able to sleep, again, so she’d gone back to his bedroom to speak with him, only to find him gone. She’d sat on the bed, dead tired, and woken up the next morning. After the same thing happened third time, she figured it was safe for her to sleep there seeing as he wasn’t going to.

 

Perhaps it was just that, the _familiarity;_ the _familiar_ smell lingering in the air, on his sheets, as well as the fact Shelby was close by. She’d never thought there could be another reason but Shelby; all she’d wanted was to _sleep_ close to her daughter in case she needed her mother, at least that’s what she had been telling herself _._

 

But, “That’s not the only reason why you stayed away,” Marie points out carefully, “you said it yourself.”

 

“No, it isn’t,” he admits, “but I don’t want to talk about that, not now.”

 

For once, she doesn’t feel like pressing on or harassing him with more questions. It’s a miracle they’ve been able to uphold a conversation without yelling and screaming this long and she really doesn’t want to ruin it… But she is curious, she can’t deny that. “Rain check on that one?” She suggests.

 

“Rain check,” he agrees smiling mischievously, the way he often does, and then without a warning, he gets up to his feet and offers her a hand. _This is it_ , she concludes, _there’s no running away._

 

She takes his hand.


End file.
